


we can call it love, or we can call it nothing

by backwardsties95



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Harry, Post-Hogwarts, Rating May Change, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-17 14:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwardsties95/pseuds/backwardsties95
Summary: Eighth year is for reunion. It is for gathering in a common place to finish what was started. It is for healing, comforting, and moving on.Everyone needs someone to lean on, someone who understands their pain and can help them cope with it. Sometimes the people that do this are not everyone's first guess.





	we can call it love, or we can call it nothing

**Author's Note:**

> [title song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ny-di8Mv9jE)
> 
>  
> 
> This is also unbeta'd so please bear with me as I fix the mistakes as I find them

It was the mid-August when the owl came.

It flew in through the open bedroom window -  _I really need to stop doing that_ \- and landed on Hedwig's old perch. It chirped at him, taking his attention away from the spot in the wall he had grown to stare at every time he was alone. After taking the letter, he gave it a few owl treats he would keep for paper owls and Pigwidgeon before it took off into the night. Once again he was left to himself and his thoughts. 

The stamp on the wax seal bore an insignia that make his heart squeeze painfully. Flashes of the war, of the bodies, ran through his mind like slide projector of ugly memories. Forcing them to the back of his mind, he popped the wax from the envelope, sprinkling his desk with little flecks of red. There were crisp areas across the paper as he unfolded, as if there was some rain along the journey. It almost tricked him into believing life was normal. 

" _Dear Mr Harry James Potter,_

_We would like to thank you for what you have done to help Hogwarts and the wizarding world. There are no amount of words to express the gratitude for having another chance at normalcy that your sacrifice and courage has given us as well as yourself._

_The war halted the education and learning of many and, as headmistress, I have decided to give those who fought in the war during their seventh year a second chance. Those who wish to return, but are not obligated to, are welcome back on September 1st for their "eighth year". Sleeping arrangements will be made for those who will return, forming a fifth partial House. Classes will be slightly different, seeing as your experiences and knowledge go father than curriculum currently stands. We welcome anyone who wishes to come back to Hogwarts. All past discretions will be forgotten as education is for everyone who wants it._

_I will await your reply via owl or Floo._

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Order of Merlin, First_ _Class_ "

Harry looked at the letter for a moment. He then read it twice more. He was allowed to go back. He could go home.

The letter was set down to the side as he dug around his desk for some spare parchment and a pen (He got tired of spilled ink bottles and blotted letters). He wrote out a hasty reply before stopping halfway through. He didn't have an owl. A look at the clock told him it was well past three in the morning. Nothing would be open now. He could easily Apparate to the nearest owlery but he always felt bad for going after dark. He couldn't Floo this late at night either. Surely Professor McGonagall was sleeping. 

Deciding to just finish the letter and go to the owlery in the morning, he sat back down to do just that. His eyes burned as he wrote the letter but not from emotion. He hadn't gotten a whole ton of sleep since the war ended. If he added up the hours, it was maybe four or five a week. Ron and Hermione stopped asking if he was sleeping or not and took to concerned glances and occasional slips of sleeping draught when they left his place for the night. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the last seven vials of the potion sitting on his dresser, waiting to be drunk. Harry ran a hand through his already messy hair as he stood from his chair and made his way down the stairs.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place definitely looked better but it was definitely better than when Harry first arrived here three years previous. While it wasn't dusty and filthy and full of Dark objects that could potentially hurt him, there were stacks of mail by the door on the dresser and on the dining room table. His fridge was bare except a couple of eggs, ketchup, and was should have been milk. The door to Sirius's room remained closed and he wanted it to stay that way. It almost seemed as if the person who lived in the house had gone on a trip and never came back. 

Being eighteen and alone sucked. 

He entered the living room, a place that the house kept in a state that he found most comfortable. He muttered a thanks as he grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped himself up. The fire was a gentle crackle before him, bathing the room in a soft orange glow. The excitement of the letter was starting to wear off and the emptiness was coming back. He felt cold and alone even with the fire and the sounds of Kreacher going about in the kitchen, making Harry some hot cocoa. Kreacher knew to make some when Harry got like this. Harry's glasses were put on the table after a while when they started to bite into his face from being pressed into the pillow. 

"Sir."

Harry turned his face up to see Kreacher standing before him with a tray. There was a mug of steaming hot cocoa, some biscuits and a small stack of pancakes. It took a second for him to realize that sun was now starting to pour into the house from the windows. He had been lying there for hours. 

"Thank you, Kreacher."

"There is someone at the door, Master Harry."

As he threw the blanket off of him and began towards the door, he threw over his shoulder, "Just Harry is fine." He shuffled over to the door, where someone was knocking incessantly, and pulled it open to see Hermione and Ron standing in front of him. In her hand was the same letter Harry had just gotten last night. He stepped out of the way to let them in. As they walked into the living room, Harry asked if Kreacher would please make some tea for their guests and sat down on the couch to eat his breakfast.

"Did you get one too?" asked Ron, taking a seat next to Hermione, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. 

Harry nodded.

"We figured you would," Hermione said with a look of relief. "They would be positively mental not to ask you back."

He nodded once more before stuffing his mouth full of pancakes. It wasn't that he was hungry. If anything, he would prefer not to eat whatsoever, but Kreacher always looked upset when he didn't eat and he didn't want his friends to think he was starving himself as well as not sleeping. The next thing he would know, there would be a feeding tube down his throat and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley's watchful eye on him. 

"How many do you think are coming back?"

Hermione shrugged. "Who knows? I would reckon everyone would, but I have heard some people can't handle going back. Which is completely understandable! It'll be hard, definitely. I wonder how much they have gotten done as far as reparations."

"With McGonagall as headmistress, I am sure everything is going swimmingly," Ron said with a wave of his hand. "How've you been sleeping, Harry?"

Swallowing the mouthful of pancake, Harry cleared his throat and told them that he was sleeping fine. In fact, when they got there, he had just woke up from sleeping for five hours. The news made Hermione grin and Ron congratulated him. It pained him to lie to his best friends. He knew that all they wanted was for him to be okay. They just wanted him to be happy. It just hurt that he had to lie to them when the truth would hurt them worse. 

They stayed for a few hours, finished the tea, and made a promise for next week to get their schoolbooks and supplies. Once they were gone, Harry decided to Floo Professor McGonagall to tell her that he would be coming as well. First he showered very quickly and changed. There was no way he was going to show up to her office looking like shit. He attempted to smooth down his hair before going back down to the living room where he threw Floo powder into the fireplace, said, "Headmistress's office, Hogwarts", and stepped through the green flames. 

When he walked into the office, everything was exactly as he remembered. Various trinkets and magical objects surrounded him with the portraits of previous headmasters looking down over him. Albus Dumbledore's portrait was empty, leaving only the chair in which he normally sat. Part of Harry wondered where he could possibly be, where the other locations of the portraits were. His eyes swept over the room to land on Professor McGonagall sitting in her chair. She lifted her head at the sound of the fireplace roaring. 

"Potter, it is very nice to see you," she said, a soft smile on her face. "What brings you here? Did you get my letter?"

Harry smiled back at her, feeling once again at home and much less alone. "Yes, I did. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Professor McGonagall set down her quill and rested her hands atop the paper she had been writing on. She gave a nod towards one of the seats in front of her desk, suggesting he take one. It was almost like it had been before the war the second he sat down as he remembered all the times he sat here after every bad thing during his school years. The headmistress just looked over her glasses at him as he reminisced, reminding him of a cat. Just watching and waiting.

"I wanted to accept your offer, Professor."

"I am delighted to hear that," she replied with a bigger smile. "As I mentioned in the letter, sleeping arrangements will be made. We are already in the process of making a dormitory for all eighth year students. Everything should be ready by the time you and the other students arrive on September first."

"May I ask you a question?"

She nodded with a gesture to continue.

 "Who else is coming back? At least, as you know right now." Harry cleared his throat nervously. "If I may ask."

McGonagall seemed to think about this for a moment. As the silence stretched on, Harry grew more and more anxious. He patted his hand against the leg that wasn't bouncing. It took a great amount of self-control to not reach up and start messing with his hair. 

"Right now, there haven't been too many replies," she finally answered. "I am giving them time before I put in a final word of how much room to make for students. However, at the moment, I have gotten word from you, your two friends - Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley -, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and a few others. I am quite happy with how -"

Before she could finish her sentence, the fire flared again, flashing the room green. Harry turned in his seat to see a man step out of fireplace. He almost didn't know who it was when he noticed the startling white-blond hair. Draco Malfoy was wearing very nice dark blue robes that contrasted beautifully with his skin, which was looking better than it had been in the last two years Harry had seen him. While he wasn't completely filled out or the picture of health, he still had some thinness to him that brought out all the sharp curves in his face in a way that wasn't bad. Harry took notice of his high cheekbones and angular jaw. They locked eyes for a moment that seemed to stop time and made Harry's heart pick up.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware that you were in a meeting." Draco started to turn back towards the Floo. "I'll come back later."

Harry shot up out of the chair. "No, don't!"

Malfoy looked over his shoulder with a look that almost seemed surprised. Sure, their past wasn't great, but that didn't mean Harry didn't want to start over again. 

However, he didn't think he would get this far. Both Professor McGonagall and Malfoy were looking at him, waiting for him to speak. He chewed on his lip before turning to face the headmistress.

"Thank you very much for meeting with me, Professor." He looked at Malfoy. "I'll just be leaving now."

As he walked to the fireplace, their gazes caught again and Harry could see  _something_ in those pale grey eyes. There were no words between them. The younger of the two gave the other a tight-lipped smile before Flooing to Hermione and Ron's apartment. 

After the war, the two decided to move in with each other since they had solidified their relationship while on the run. Harry, of course, was happy for them. It was a cozy little apartment in downtown London. There were bookshelves all over from the books Hermione had been reading with little touches here and there from Ron. A Chudley Cannons poster to a chess set on the coffee table that Harry and Ron would play at any time whenever he came over. It was warm and welcoming. It gave him a feeling that Grimmauld Place hasn't given him. 

One look around told him that his friends weren't home at the time. The thought thoroughly saddened him. He didn't want to be alone. Not after seeing Malfoy in McGonagall's office. His shoulders sagging, Harry turned back around and went home. 

"Kreacher?" he called out as he stepped out of the fireplace and headed right back for the couch. There was a small  _pop!_ as Kreacher appeared in the room near the coffee table. Harry gave him a small smile. "Would you mind making me some tea please?"

Kreacher nodded once before popping back out. 

The blanket Harry had tossed off earlier was still lying there in a crumpled pile. He curled up into a ball with his head buried into the pillow while he waited for his tea. The past few hours ran through his brain over and over again. Ron and Hermione, the chat with Professor McGonagall, seeing Draco Malfoy. Propping his head up on his head, he went over those five minutes in his head. 

Malfoy had looked immaculate. His hair had grown out so that the ends brushed his cheekbones and slightly hid his ears but was combed back neatly. There was not a single hair or speck of dirt on his robes. He wasn't as grey as he had been during their sixth year. There was no fear hiding behind his eyes - although, Harry probably shouldn't say that since he quickly left the room once Malfoy had arrived. He could say for sure, however, that he looked better since Harry has last seen them at the Malfoy criminal hearings. 

Harry covered his face with his hands. He made himself look like a fool in front of Malfoy. Jumping up from his seat like that and calling him back was so stupid. Malfoy probably thought of him as a nutter, switching between moods like that. Worse yet, he probably thought that Harry still hated him. A deep sigh escaped his lungs as Harry threw himself back on the couch.

"He doesn't know," Harry groaned.

"Who doesn't know, Master Harry?"

The sudden appearance of the Kreacher made Harry jump in his seat. His hand clutched his heart as his raced in his chest.

"Kreacher," he gasped, "you scared me."

"Kreacher is very sorry. Kreacher has brought Master Harry his tea."

The silver tray with a tea pot and teacup glinted in the fire light. Harry gave Kreacher a quick smile before taking the tray. A muttered "thank you" had Kreacher shuffling off to wherever he went when Harry didn't have anything for him to do. As Harry drank his tea, the fact that Malfoy didn't know that Harry never meant to hurt him made his head spin. No doubt Snape never mentioned anything to Malfoy. If he did say anything, it likely didn't shed Harry in a good light. Now Malfoy was likely going to be there for eighth year. They would take classes together and  _dorm_ together. He would see him every day. 

Malfoy probably hated him. After what Harry did to him, it wouldn't surprise him if there wasn't the most boiling hate underneath that stoic face. Harry deserved any and all hate that Malfoy could possible hold for him. After everything he did in their early school years. While Malfoy wasn't the greatest, Harry shouldn't have done or said some of the things he did. His vision got blurrier as his thoughts continued and he briefly wondered if his eyesight was getting worst. It wasn't until he noticed the warm tears on his cheeks that he realized he was crying. He quickly grabbed a tissue and pushed his glasses up as he wiped his face dry.  _No crying_ , Harry thought to himself,  _there is no point in crying_. Once he was okay to see at least semi-decently, he stood up with the blanket around his shoulders and made his way up to his bedroom. 

"If I am gonna do this, I am gonna do it right," he muttered to himself. 

"Has the ungrateful student finally become a man?" asked Phineas Nigellus as Harry walked by his portrait. It had been long since moved out of the bedroom and away from the main stairs but Harry still had to walk by it. "We Slytherins never cry. We get over our problems, not show them as weakness."

"Not a weakness."

The door closed behind Harry with a wave of his hand. He sat down at his desk, much like he had several hours before, and grabbed some parchment. This step took less time than the first now that he knew where it was. As soon as he put his pen down, his mind drew a blank. He knew  _what_ he wanted to write but not  _how_ he wanted to write it. He wanted to tell Malfoy exactly what happened in that bathroom two years ago. Explain to him that it was an unknown spell he read in his potions book and he panicked, shot off a spell that first came into his head. He wanted to tell him that he never meant for it to go that way. The whole scene flashed behind his eyes. All the blood pooling in the water on the floor, the slashes turning his white shirt an awful color of red. He could feel the fear and panic rising in him as if he was right back in that bathroom. He remembered not knowing what to do or how to save him. It was awful but it took that moment for Harry to realize that he never hated Malfoy. Not really. Sure, he said some awful things about him and his friends, but he never deserved death. He was like Harry and had expectations put on his head that he shouldn't have needed to deal with at such a young age. 

When the page was half filled with messy words and crossed out sentences, Harry tossed the pen away and tossed the crumpled parchment into the wastebin. No matter how hard he tried nothing he wrote came out right. It didn't convey just how guilty Harry felt. Grabbing a new piece after briefly searching for his pen, he licked his lips and forced out Malfoy's name across the top. Two seconds later and he decided to, once again, toss away the pen and fall into his bed. His face felt tight from the dried tears as he gazed up at the ceiling. All he wanted was to finish school and get his life started. He wanted to make up with Malfoy. They didn't have to be friends, per se. That might be pushing it. But if they could maybe be on a first-name basis that would be nice. 

He took off his glasses, set them on his bedside dresser, and burrowed beneath the blankets. Almost like it knew what he was looking for, his bedroom became a few degrees warmer but he didn't come out from his blankets. If he was going back to school, he was going to spend the rest of break underneath his blankets while he could. He can't miss his classes for depression episodes. 

Heaven knows he would be having plenty more once he got there. 


End file.
